Explosive devices
Friday, February 11th, 2005Last night I was washing my face, getting ready for bed (10:30pm or so) when I heard step, crunch, step crunch on the deck outside.
Washcloth still in hand I walked quickly to the kitchen to check that the sliding glass door that leads to the deck was locked. It wasn’t. I locked it and beat a hasty retreat back to the bedroom where I turned off the light and tried to peer through the blinds into the darkness. I could see nothing; only sensed a presence out there.
Back down the hall, I grabbed my cell and dialed my husband. He answered with, not a hello, but a “I’m on my way home.”
Great, I said, feeling totally paranoid. I think there’s someone on our deck. “Could be a dog.” Step, crunch. I don’t think so.
Made brave by the phone connection to someone who could save me, or at least dial 911 if necessary, I crept back to the kitchen. I’m going to flip on the deck light, I said.
My husband installed one of those massive florescent outdoor lights last year. I call it “the sun.” At full power, it turns the deck to daylight. I stood at the door, nervously clutching my phone, and flipped the light, 90% sure I would find nothing, only my worked up imagination huddling in the dark, alone.
As the light flickered to life I saw a hulking outline revealing and panicked. There’s someone there! I yelled into the phone. A nanosecond later I was yelling my son’s name (first, middle, last) as the light revealed his shaggy hair, his Mizzou hoodie, his sheepish face.
I threw open the door I’d moments ago hid behind as if it were any kind of protection, and hauled him inside.
What are you doing?! “Sneaking out,” stating the obvious, he tiptoed in, shoes in hand. My husband, still on the other end of the cell phone in my hand heard it all.
Lectures ensued. Questions filled the air. Threats were made. My heart finally resumed it’s regular pace. Apology tendered, and accepted.
Living with a teenager is like living with an explosive device. Most of the time, it looks like something ordinary, a clock, for instance, and then one day it goes off, and you’re sitting there saying, I had no idea.



.
